Small Wonder 2013

If you've never been to Small Wonder, the annual short story festival at Charleston in Sussex, here are some tips:

Save up. You'll definitely want to buy at least one book. Where else are there hundreds of amazing short story collections waiting just for you?

Wear woolly socks. The barn is charming, atmospheric, and chilly once the sun drops below the South Downs.

Expect to lie awake when you get home. Your mind will buzz with the stories you've heard, and the ideas that have leapt into your notebook.

Remember your notebook.

In mine, I've written lots of things that I'll keep to myself for now, but also: Alison Moore says that home is often a dangerous place, and that her short stories are about 'little fractures'. Brian Kimberling - who's lived in all sorts of places and is about to head home to Indiana - says that people who don't have mixed feelings about home aren't paying much attention. Deborah Levy says that there are lots of missing pages in the stories we tell about ourselves and they're probably the most interesting. She likes to read Freud and Agatha Christie, especially the stories where the clues are clunky.

The picture, by the way, is from one of the incredibly comfortable Small Wonder sofas. My Mum's next to me, and it's thanks to her and my Dad that I've been going to the festival for years, as they cleverly spotted that it's my perfect birthday present. Thank you!

I think it's time for a gingerbread latte

I've written a couple of new stories, but I'm keeping them to myself ... they need time to settle, and I haven't had a moment for quiet contemplation.

Work has been truly hectic over the last few weeks, with lots of late-night sessions at my desk to hit deadlines. I'm feeling a bit tired, perhaps because I've also done two readings, attended one launch, spent a day at Small Wonder (short story heaven with cows), another at The 26's Wordfest (where I signed up to write the London Marathon), seen some great (and some less great) exhibitions, gathered the last vegetables and stacked logs for the winter, caught a couple of very different but inspiring plays, got to know Florence the kitten.

I've also cooked lots of dinners and made coffee for lots of builders, and we emptied our loft. Finally, last night we saw Skyfall - just what I needed.

Today, I'm celebrating: my first fiction royalty cheque came in the post (for the splendid amount of £29.27), and I've just sent off a magazine feature so I have a whole afternoon off before tomorrow's project comes in. What am I going to do? I think I'll head into town and treat myself to a gingerbread latte.

Proof I'm not perfect

Salt sent the proofs for The Best British Short Stories for me to check - hugely exciting to see my story there, and only slightly less so when I spotted a typo on the first page which I'd missed when it was first printed in the Warwick Review. Still, at least I found it before they printed the book - it's due out on 15 April, more details here http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/anth/9781907773129.htm.

I also had to check my biog in the back of the book - a pretty quick job as it's so short: "SJ Butler is a freelance writer and editor living in Sussex. 'The Swimmer' is the first short story she has published." Alongside the lists of novels, collections and illustrious magazines everyone else has published in, it looks a little sparse! Still, I'm thrilled to be alongside people like Hilary Mantel and Adam Marek, both of whom I've seen at the Small Wonder festival at Charleston and admired from afar.

Adam Marek read an utterly beautiful story about a father and son at Small Wonder last year, quite unlike the surreal stories in 'Instruction Manual for Swallowing'. I haven't seen it published, and in a way that's one of the joys of the festival - just occasionally we hear a story that feels as though it's being read once in its life, for us alone. Michel Faber read one he'd written specially for the festival, which he told us he didn't plan to publish, and it's still quite clear in my mind, all the brighter for not being written. Mind you, I'd love to read it and experience it again.